Rattled
by coloradoandcolorado1
Summary: In the face of a life-threatening situation, John and Roy each come to realize how and why their partnership works. Now Complete!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimers: I don't own these characters; I am borrowing them for a few minutes. And I'm not making a dime off of them, though I wish I could.

I'm also not a firefighter, doctor, nurse, or have anything to do with rescues or the medical profession. I just like to write, so please ignore any technical errors.

Rattled

Chapter 1

An inky blackness surrounded him like a living thing. It was below, above, and on all sides. He might have been drifting in outer space or floating under water; he didn't know. For one last calm moment he wondered if his eyes were even open.

But wait, maybe that was it. He slowly brought his right hand to his face and gingerly ran his fingertips up the smooth plane of his cheek to find it covered with a film of dirt. His right eye was indeed open. He could feel his eyelashes but still couldn't see his hand.

His left eye also was open, but this time he felt a wet stickiness on his eyebrow. It was then he noticed the unmistakable coppery scent of blood. Disoriented, he quietly felt down the front of what seemed to be his turnout coat. _I must be on a run_, he surmised.

It was then that Fireman Johnny Gage's heart began to race.

Trying to remember what had happened only made his pounding head hurt more. In his mind's eye he saw a jumble of fragmented scenes and heard a deafening roar. Fighting the urge to panic, Johnny carefully bent his right knee, then his left. So far, so good. Then he tried to move his left arm and was greeted by a sharp pain that brought tears to his eyes.

"Bad idea," he coughed hoarsely, swallowing what felt like dust. The tightness in his chest increased as if a gorilla was sitting on it, and he had a hard time catching his breath.

Exhaling slowly to calm his breathing, Johnny struggled to reason out what had happened. _If I were on a run, I would have been with Roy._

This last thought echoed in his brain for a few seconds. It was the only thing that could have pierced the fog of his thinking and caused him to jerk forward viscerally, oblivious to his injuries.

"Roy!" he shouted and was instantaneously forced back down by a nausea-inducing wave of pain that hit him full force. He passed out again within seconds.

Even though he had been a fireman for years, it never failed to amaze Roy DeSoto how circumstances could turn so dire so quickly. Was it only two hours ago that he had sat down to an early dinner with his fellow paramedic John Gage?

They had just gotten back from the type of call that made all the dangers associated with their job worth it—they had delivered a baby. Mom and dad had thought they could get to the hospital in time, but their son had other plans and chose to arrive at a gas station off the 405 Freeway.

When the squad rolled up on the scene, they heard the woman screaming in the late stages of labor. Her cries startled the usually unflappable Johnny. Roy noticed his partner's expression and sent him a we've-got-this-in-the-bag look. When the husband threw open the van door, two calm firemen greeted him, which is just what the panicked man needed. After a quick delivery and transport to Rampart by ambulance, the parents were understandably grateful and had thanked Roy and John profusely.

"I really didn't do anything but play catcher," Roy had joked.

"Oh come on! You just delivered a baby!" John had slapped him on the back. Even though both men had helped bring the seven-pound boy into the world, Roy noticed Johnny deliberately shining the spotlight on him.

The engine was out on a run when they arrived back at the station. Both men smiled with a sense of satisfaction. And to their delight, a casserole was warming in the oven.

"Looks good," Roy observed as he brought the dish to the table where Johnny had set two places.

"A new baby," John said. "It really is a miracle."

"Are you getting philosophical on me?" Roy teased.

"No, I was just thinking about some things." John set the serving spoon down. "Um, Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. You know. Back there," the younger paramedic said sheepishly.

Roy took a few bites. "You were fine. I just reminded you, that's all."

"You always seem to know what I need," John said and looked chagrined.

"It goes both ways, partner," Roy said quietly.

"But I shouldn't have let her screaming get to me in the first place!"

Roy interrupted John, who was clearly poised to launch into one of his rants. "We all have things that rattle us."

John regarded his partner dubiously. "When do you ever get rattled?"

"Every time you end up in Rampart Hospital!" Roy laughed. "You are a disaster magnet!"

"I'm not that bad..." John began defensively.

"Are you kidding?" Roy asked incredulously. "You've broken your leg, been bit by a snake, caught a monkey virus..."

"OK, OK."

Roy continued to count Johnny's mishaps on his fingers. "Been hit by a car, been sprayed by dangerous chemicals, had a roof fall on you..."

"Alright!" Johnny laughed good-naturedly, raising his hands in mock surrender. "You have to admit I've made your life more interesting."

Roy smirked. "That's one word for it. Listen, you can keep getting into your scrapes, and I'll always be there to get you out. Rattled or not."

Johnny looked a little offended. "Why don't you just partner with someone else then?"

Roy shot him a sidelong look. "I think I'll stick with you. After all, I have you housebroken and all."

It was then the chimes had rung for them and what sounded like every station in the county.

"Parking garage collapse. West California Community College. 312 Mitchell Boulevard. Three-one-two Mitchell Boulevard. Cross street Applewood. Time out 1640."

"Squad 51, KMG 365," Roy responded then slipped into the driver's seat of the squad.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The community college, which consisted of five buildings, was located on a rectangular campus in an area of town where parking was at a premium. After several failed attempts, a bond measure had passed the previous fall to fund construction of a garage that would serve students and other local commuters. A two-block area of older buildings had been torn down and a structure began to rise as soon as the spring rains had stopped. The garage was located at the northern end of the campus, buffering the classrooms and offices from the busy traffic noise of Mitchell Boulevard.

As the squad approached from the north, Roy thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. The first purple rays of the summer sunset stretched out across two levels of a standing parking garage with work clearly started on a third. It was set back from the street and surrounded by a chain link security fence. Not until he pulled in east of the structure did Roy see that the section of the garage closest to the campus had pancaked down as if a giant hand had karate-chopped it.

The building appeared to have collapsed cleanly with each level landing on the one below with very little debris spilling outward. Unfortunately, it left little hope that anyone trapped inside could have survived.

"Man, this might be bad," John muttered as peered up through the windshield at the concrete and steel.

As John and Roy exited the squad, Engine 51 pulled up. Captain Hank Stanley jumped from Big Red as soon as Engineer Mike Stoker had brought the engine to a safe stop. Wearing tired expressions and dirty turnout coats, it was obvious the crew had come straight from their last call, which was a minor brush fire.

A heavy-set man came rushing toward Stanley. "I don't know how this could've happened!"

"Calm down and tell me what's going on," Stanley said.

"I'm Paul Gomez, site foreman. Everything was fine, then it just came down!"

"Is anyone hurt?" the captain asked.

"Yeah, Tony." Gomez gestured toward a group of workers standing a distance away by some ornamental trees.

"DeSoto, a man over there is injured. You and Gage check him out."

"Sure, Cap," Roy replied as he and John collected their gear.

Stanley turned back to Gomez. "Is anyone missing?"

Gomez looked ill. "I'm not sure. We are behind schedule on the construction and so I thought it would be OK if we worked later than normal tonight. I mean, most of the guys want the extra pay and it's light out so late and all…"

"And a lot of them aren't in the union, right?" Cap asked suspiciously. "Like undocumented workers?"

Gomez didn't answer. "Most of the guys were eating dinner by those trees, but they aren't all there. Some could have gone down the street to the food truck that's there every day. But some could have been inside," his voice quavered. "I'm not sure."

"Do another head count," Stanley directed him. Gomez nodded and rushed off.

The captain gripped his Handi-Talkie. "LA, we're going to need streets cordoned off in a mile radius. Alert the police to evacuate the surrounding buildings. And we're going to need lights."

"10-4, 51."

The captain continued to tell dispatch what heavy equipment would be needed as he strategically thought through all the components that would have to come together in just the right way to start taking apart this monster.

John and Roy swiftly assessed the injured man. Luckily, he only had minor cuts.

"I can manage here," Roy said.

"Sure?" John cocked his eyebrow.

"Yeah."

"OK." John adjusted his helmet and quickly ran back to the engine.

As he applied a dressing to a cut, Roy could hear the swift approach of other rescue vehicles and out of the corner of his eye he saw Battalion 10 pulling up.

"I think we all got out in time," Tony said, wiping a film of sweat and dust off his face.

Roy nodded. "I hope so."

"One minute I'm talking to my buddy at the construction trailer, and the next it was like an earthquake. Was it an earthquake?"

"I didn't feel one," Roy answered truthfully. "It may take some time, but I'm sure they'll get to the bottom of why it collapsed." 

Linesmen Marco Lopez and his partner Chet Kelly joined Mike and John near their captain. "There may be people trapped in there," Stanley said evenly. "Let's check the perimeter to get an idea of what we're looking at. Chet, Marco, circle around this side to the south. John, Mike, go the opposite direction. I'm going to make sure we get the most current building plans."

"You got it, Cap," Chet said as he and Marco jogged off. Mike and John headed the other way.

"How is this half still standing?" Mike wondered aloud as he and John went down the middle of Mitchell Boulevard, which was now closed to traffic. From this angle nothing looked amiss. They rounded the corner and saw through the chain-link fence that the entrance to the structure's lower levels was still intact. But not far beyond that the garage became an incoherent tumble of groaning steel and concrete.

"John!" Mike suddenly pointed to the garage entry. Covered with white concrete dust, a man lurched up the ramp. From the grotesque way his left foot faced to the right, it was obvious he had a broken leg. Mike and John ran to an open gate in the security fence and quickly supported the injured man across the street, away from the construction site. They eased him down on the sidewalk, then John removed his gloves to feel the man's pulse.

"51, we have an injured construction worker across from the main garage entrance near the corner of Mitchell and Applewood," Mike called into his HT. "Request a squad and an ambulance be sent to this location."

"10-4," Cap replied. "Squad 36, did you copy?"

"10-4, 51. We're a minute out."

Johnny flicked his penlight in the man's eyes. The pupils were equal and reactive.

"Is anyone else down there?" Mike asked.

The injured man struggled not to cry out in pain. Instead he nodded. "Jose. Hurt bad."

Seeing Squad 36 pull up, John turned to Mike. "Stay with him!" he called and rushed back across the street. Propelled by a combination of instinct, adrenaline, and the urgency of the situation, John tore through the gate and down the ramp to the lower level. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he called into the yawning darkness. "Hello! Jose?"

He stood completely still and listened as debris in the distance continued to shift. "Hello!"

The only answer he received was a low rumble that started under the soles of his feet. By the time he registered what was going to happen, John knew it was already too late. Lunging toward the north foundation wall, he made himself as low to the ground as possible and covered his head with his arms.


	3. Chapter 3

A few minutes after Roy had heard Captain Stanley direct Squad 36 to Mike Stoker's location, a deep roar emanated from the sagging structure. Roy watched in shock as another quarter of the garage came down, leaving only the north side standing. He knew it wouldn't be long before it fell, too.

His Handi-Talkie came to life with the captains of the different stations checking in. After making sure Tony was all right, Roy hurried to the squad to secure his equipment, then quickly made his way through a crowd of onlookers and construction workers that the police continued to move back.

Captain Stanley stood by the engine and spoke into his HT with urgency. "Stay with Squad 36. Battalion Chief Hambly and I will come to your location."

"10-4, 51." Roy could tell it was Stoker on the other end, except Mike's normally steady voice was filled with emotion.

"Did anyone get hurt in the last collapse?" Roy asked as he ran up.

Stanley slowly turned to his senior paramedic, took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders. That one movement communicated all Roy needed to know. He had seen Cap do it too many times in the past.

"Who?" Roy asked.

Stanley swallowed hard. "Gage."

Roy felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. How could John be hurt, especially after their conversation at dinner? Fear and worry shook him but he remained in paramedic mode. "Where is he?"

Stanley's voice remained calm, but for a moment his brown eyes betrayed the emotions coursing through his body. "John ran to the lower level to look for an injured man right before this last collapse. The entrance has caved in. He's not answering his HT."

John drifted back to consciousness a short time later, but in the void there was no way to tell if it had been two minutes or two hours. The blackness enveloped him. It wasn't simply dark with hints of light and penumbra shades of gray that could have helped him make out shapes. There was no light at all.

His head hurt even worse than before, but John was able to remember that he had an injured arm. And considering his slow and confused state of thinking, he decided he probably had a pretty good concussion, too.

He wondered if he could sit up. _Don't do that_ said a voice in the back of his brain. John gingerly took his right hand and felt the ground on both his left and right sides. It was solid. He then stretched his arm straight up and was glad it didn't hit a low-hanging ceiling. Next he stretched his arm over his head and felt a hard, solid surface about a foot away. It was flat and even. He could feel an outline of something. Slowly tracing it with his finger, he realized it was a block.

"Concrete," he said aloud.

Slowly he eased up off his back, careful not to use his left arm at all. For a moment the world spun dizzily on its axis but then righted itself, or at least it seemed to in the darkness. John scooted back and leaned against what felt like a wall.

"OK," John coughed breathlessly. Hearing his voice in the darkness made him feel better. "This is a good start."

Still not sure what had happened, John racked his brain. He remembered something about a baby. Was there a baby in this darkness? No, the baby was safe. He knew it. He remembered feeling happy about it.

But where was Roy? And the guys? Could they be only a few feet away from him, injured or worse? He tried to call out but another series of coughs sidelined that effort. When he finally got some air, John reasoned that if his friends lay near by and needed help, he first had to find a way to determine where he was. What did he have with him that could help? He felt in the right pocket of his turnout coat and to his surprise he pulled out his penlight.

"Well, right on!" he exclaimed. "Why is this in here?" The small light had little power in the vast darkness, but its glow comforted him. He shone it in all directions to assess his surroundings. What he saw quickly lowered his spirits.

To his right was a solid wall of debris. Jutting out of it at a right angle was a large steel beam that came dangerously near his legs. There was space in front of him littered with chunks of concrete that faded into darkness. He couldn't tell where it ended. To his left was a small space that was bordered by more debris.

"On the positive side," he said with a touch of irony. "I think I found the one spot that could have saved my life."

Swinging the light around again, John saw no evidence that any of his brothers had been with him. He let relief flood him, which was quickly replaced by fear.

"Hello? Help! I'm in here!" he called but doubled over in a fit of coughing.

_It's OK. The guys will be coming soon_, he thought. At least he hoped it would be soon. With a head injury, he didn't want to risk passing out again, but he feared he would have no say in the matter.

"Roy, I really could use your help right about now," he whispered. 

Known for being an even-tempered man, Roy was a firefighter who could be counted on for his professionalism and warm bedside manner. But as he stood mere yards away from the caved-in garage entrance, he was physically biting his tongue to keep from unleashing a barrage of curse words at his superiors.

"What do you mean we aren't going in yet?" he finally managed to spit out.

Captain Stanley warned Roy off with a stern look. He knew Commander Hambly didn't suffer fools gladly, especially in critical situations. Hambly had been conferring with Stanley and the other captains at a command center set up near where Mike had just seen the critically injured worker transported to Rampart Hospital by Squad 36. Roy and Mike had been waiting with Chet and Marco and the crews of other stations for the go-ahead to start the search for John. Roy's last threads of patience snapped when he heard the commander say, "wait."

Hambly was about to rip this insubordinate paramedic a new one when something in Roy's light blue eyes caused him to pause. There was anger there, and fear to be sure, but they also held a steely look Hambly had witnessed during his service in Korea. If a G.I. suspected someone in his unit was in danger, he would get a determined look of fierce protectiveness that said he would fight whatever or whoever got in the way of helping his comrade. Recognizing this same look in Roy's eyes filled Hambly with an unexpected compassion, so he calmly placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"DeSoto, I know you are worried about your partner. But we have to work the plan so that Gage and everyone else can get home safely today. And that means following certain safety procedures, OK?"

Roy knew the commander was right but that didn't lessen his anxiety. Every second they stood talking above ground was one more that Johnny was trapped. Roy knew he had to take action to help his partner, but the commander was still talking.

"You and your company get suited up and be ready to go on my orders," Hambly was saying. Roy nodded mutely.

Capt. Stanley watched his men hurry to get their SCBA equipment. "Thanks, sir," he said. "Gage is an important part of our station." _And even more important to his partner_.

Hambly looked grim. "Hank, you know this situation is damn serious. Gage is a brother to all of us. We _will_ get him out..."

_One way or another,_ Stanley finished the commander's sentence silently.


	4. Chapter 4

"He's going to be fine," Dr. Kelly Brackett told the worried group assembled in the third-floor waiting room. "The surgery went fine, and he's resting comfortably."

"Thank you, doctor!" chorused the relieved men and women.

As the head of Rampart Hospital's Emergency Department, Kelly Brackett was used to the unexpected, but an emergency appendectomy wasn't how he planned to start his shift. _It probably wasn't what that teenager expected, either,_ he thought wryly.

He walked down the busy hallway quickly, occasionally saying hello to colleagues he passed. He stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the first floor. "The Girl from Impanema" was playing, which made him scowl. This piped-in version was terrible, and it was one of his favorite songs. Glancing at his watch, he wondered if he could get down to the cafeteria to grab a late dinner before he got caught up in the madness of the county's busiest ER. The doors slid open and he was greeted by Nurse Dixie McCall who had an uncanny ability to know what he was thinking.

"Getting some dinner?"

"Hey, Dix. I'm on my way to the cafeteria."

"I'll walk with you." They turned and went a few feet in companionable silence. "How did surgery go?"

"No problems."

"That's good, because I have something to tell you."

"What's up?"

Dixie put her hand on his arm, stopping him in his tracks. "There's been an accident at a construction site. The parking garage at WCCC has partially collapsed."

Brackett was shocked that he hadn't been notified earlier. "What? How many are we getting?"

"So far just one. Joe's got him."

"Call county to see how many more we can expect."

Dixie nodded, having anticipated his request. "Already did. Apparently most everyone was offsite when it came down. They don't think any other workers were injured."

"That's good news." Brackett folded his arms across his chest. "But your expression is saying it's not good news?"

The husky-voiced nurse dropped her gaze. "They also told me there was another partial collapse right after a firefighter had gone in to help someone. The firefighter was Johnny Gage. He's trapped now and they don't know where he is."

"Come on, it's time to wake up," someone commanded him.

_Roy. _Johnny involuntarily smiled. Roy was here now. Everything would be OK.

"I said, it's time to wake up," Roy repeated, his voice hollow and strange.

John turned to his left and saw his partner sitting cross-legged at the farthest edge of the light's reach.

"Roy?" he coughed.

"I'm here, Junior."

John shook his head, hoping to knock out some cobwebs but only succeeded in making his headache worse. "Why … Where are we?"

"Do you remember?"

"I'm not sure." John tried to shut off the sound of the roaring train coming at him. Slowly he began to remember. "It was a structure collapse, a parking garage. I came in here... well, I don't know."

"Probably not your best idea," Roy said with a laugh.

John's brow furrowed in anger. "Stop being a smart ass and get me out of here."

But Roy didn't move.

"Seriously, Roy. Let's get out of here. Help me up."

"I'm really sorry, John" was all he would say.

Confused, John peered into the gray area where Roy sat. His partner wore his blue uniform pants and jacket. No turnouts, no helmet. He made no effort to approach Johnny or offer any assistance. Something about his person didn't look right either. It was as if he was blurry around the edges.

The young paramedic felt a chill go up his spine that was unrelated to the cold concrete he sat on. "I must be hurt worse than I thought."

"What do you mean?"

"You . . . aren't . . . real." Even as John said the words, he realized he was having a conversation with a figment of his imagination.

But "Roy" was having none of it. "I am real."

"You aren't real," John insisted angrily, his breathing labored.

"I'm as real as you need me to be right now," Fake Roy said simply.

A thick silence hung in the air. John's headache felt almost unbearable. He balled up his fists and put them to the side of his head. "What I _need_ is to find a way out! What I _need_ is to know if I'm going to run out of air! What I _need_ is some water! Can you do any of that for me?"

The tightness in his chest wasn't helped by his outburst or the fact Fake Roy actually had the gall to smile apologetically. "Junior, I would help you do all of that if I could. Really."

Drained, John slumped back. Fake Roy's silhouette shimmered in the penlight's glow. "You're not much use, are you?"

Fake Roy leaned forward. "I can still help you."

John tried to ignore the sharp pain in his arm. "I must be going crazy. OK, I'll bite. How?"

"By pointing things out that you know but aren't noticing. Like that piece of rebar you're sitting on." Fake Roy gestured to John's right. Turning the penlight in that direction, John saw a three-foot-long thin, metal pole on the ground, the tip of which was under his right thigh. He pulled it from beneath him and gripped it hard.

"You can use it to hit that metal beam over there. That way they'll know where you are," Fake Roy said confidently.

John begrudgingly nodded. "I'll give you that one."

He raised the pole and struck the beam. The clanging reverberations made his head feel as if it might explode.

"What else do you notice? Or should I say, what else do I notice, since you're just the result of my head injury?" John asked.

Roy gestured to the darkness just beyond John's feet. "Over there is your helmet. Why don't you put it back on?"

John painfully inched forward until the toe of his black boot touched the helmet. He scooted the bent and battered headgear toward him with his foot and snatched it up with his right hand. He made his way back to lean against the wall.

"Oh man." He slowly examined the helmet, turning it around in his hands. "This one was brand new, too!"

"Put it on and focus. The only way you'll get out of here is if they find you, and the only way that will happen is if you make some noise," Fake Roy said. "So, you need to start hitting that beam. Say, to keep your mind off of things, let's talk about something. What about listing all the bones in the hand?"

"Nuh-uh. You're in my head, so let's talk about what _I_ want to. What about the hot new ER nurse?"

"There's the first metacarpal and the second metacarpal. Start pounding."

"Shut up," John glowered at Fake Roy. But he obeyed.


	5. Chapter 5

Roy's oxygen mask hung to one side as he, Mike, Chet, and Marco stood at the chain-link fence. Mentally he noted Squad 110 had a triage area set up at the command center. All they needed were patients.

As the late summer sun began to sink in the West, Roy gazed at the officials gathered near the entrance. "Come on, come on, come on," he repeated under his breath.

"Who all is over there?" Chet asked Mike, who stood a head taller than the Irishman and could see over the crowd of firefighters blocking the view.

"Engineers, inspectors, the chief, the captains. Maybe the governor and President Ford are over there, too, who knows?" he scowled.

"How long has it been already? How much time do they think he has?" Chet muttered.

Roy flinched as if he had been hit. He knew John's golden hour, the time following a critical injury during which medical treatment increases the victim's chances of survival, was waning. And he couldn't imagine John not having a critical injury. But to hear Chet put it so bluntly laid out the situation in black and white: If John wasn't already dead, he may soon be.

"Here they come!" Mike announced.

The different officials dispersed among the firefighters; Chief Hambly and Captain Stanley made a beeline over to the men of Station 51. "We're starting," Hambly said. "Captain Williams of Station 36 will give you assignments. Be careful and be prepared to evacuate."

More than ready to go, the firemen quickly made their way over to Captain Williams, but Cap held Roy back by the shoulder.

"Roy, I need all of my men at the top of their game. Are you there?"

Roy met the captain's direct look without hesitation. "I'm there."

Stanley gave him a nod and a slight smile. "Let's go then. Let's bring our boy home."

Station 51 led the wave of firefighters who had been waiting to rescue their brother and any workers still trapped. Stanley longed to join them, but he had other responsibilities. Plus, Paul Gomez was signaling him. "Yes, Mr. Gomez?"

"I did another headcount. I did it three times," he reported. "We are missing one man still, Jose Morales."

Captain Stanley looked thoughtful. "One of my men told me the worker who came up from the lower level said someone named Jose was still below ground."

The two men watched as the firefighters formed groups and began to organize their equipment to begin their assault on the garage.

"I'm sorry to hear about your man down there," Gomez said. "I hope he is OK."

"We're not giving up on John, and we're not giving up on Jose," the captain said solemnly.

The first hour went by swiftly. Not wanting to exhaust his men, Hambly ordered the first wave off the frontline for a break per the schedule Cap had created. Waiting replacements quickly filled their spots.

Roy slowly walked to the squad, which Marco had driven to the command center, and sank down onto the running board. He knew he should try to call Joanne—she had probably seen news coverage of the disaster and would be worried. Instead, he ran his fingers through his sandy brown hair. The last conversation he had with John played over and over in his mind.

"How are you holding up?" Chet asked as he handed Roy a cup of water.

Roy muttered, "Disaster."

"Huh?"

"Earlier Johnny asked me what rattles me. I said I get rattled every time he ends up in Rampart. Then I said he was a disaster magnet."

Chet smiled in spite of the situation. It was true that Johnny had the unenviable ability to attract danger. He also had incredible luck in surviving those situations, most of the time with Roy's help. Even though Chet gave John a hard time, playing pranks on his "pigeon," he not so secretly considered Johnny a friend. If tortured Chet probably would admit he even admired John.

Still lost in thought, Roy drank the water and threw the cup on the ground in disgust. "I shouldn't have said that to him. Sure he gets in trouble, but not because he's stupid or careless. It's because he's young, and wants to help everyone, and is brave as all get out! That's what I should have said to him."

Marco and Chet exchanged knowing glances; they had seen Roy act like this before. Sometimes Roy behaved as if he were responsible for protecting his partner from all the dangers inherent in their line of work. It wasn't rational; after all, Roy and John were both grown, capable men and the top paramedic team in the state. But Johnny had a way of inspiring others to care deeply about him. He was everyone's little brother.

"You can tell him all of this when you see him next. Then Johnny's over-inflated ego will get too big for any of us to stand," Chet predicted.

"Roy, we're going to find him," Marco said. "He's alive, I know it."

Roy sat stone-faced, not willing to let a smile play at his lips or a tear roll down his face, though he easily could have done either. "Let's go back to work."

Dr. Joe Early walked to the nurses' station with trepidation. His patient, the injured worker from the parking garage, had just told him how bad the original accident had been; Joe hated to think about Johnny being trapped in the rubble. He wouldn't allow himself to think John might be dead. Not yet.

Dixie McCall sat at the main nurses' station looking over the same paperwork for the tenth time while Kelly Brackett hovered near base station as if he could will Roy DeSoto to report in about his partner.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his pristine white lab coat, Joe cleared his throat. "Any news?"

Dixie gave him a brief smile and shook her head.

"How's your patient doing?" Brackett inquired.

"He's pretty sick, but he'll make it."

"Good, good," Brackett murmured.

Seeing his colleagues so worried, Joe tried to comfort them. "Johnny has been in some pretty tight spots before. I'm sure he'll come out of this one, too."

"Yes. You're right," Dixie agreed. "Excuse me for a moment."

She went to the women's room and splashed some cold water on her face. She was a well-trained nurse, the consummate medical professional who could look around a scene of chaos and know exactly what to do. She always managed to remain collected, even when John and Roy got injured, but over the years her affectionate attachment to the men of Station 51 caused her heart to ache when they were in trouble. Especially if it was Johnny. She was honored he considered her to be his older sister.

Dixie leaned heavily against the edge of the sink for a moment, then took a deep breath and walked back to the desk.


	6. Chapter 6

"It's really dark in here."

John moaned slightly. He had been pounding away at the beam slowly, each impact echoing in his muscles and joints. He tried to lick his cracked lips, but his mouth was dry and empty.

"It is dark," Fake Roy agreed.

John noticed the penlight's beam was fading; the oppressive blackness stalked him. "My dad once told me to not be afraid of the dark, because the dark just helps us see the light better." John smiled at the memory.

"Your dad was a smart man."

John shivered and sat silently for a minute before Fake Roy spoke again. "Let's do the bones of the foot."

Instead Johnny set the metal pole down. "I need a break, OK? I feel sick."

"Just for a minute," Fake Roy cautioned as he stood and leaned against the wall. "The only way we're going to know where you are is by you sending a signal."

"I know," John admitted. He felt the cold seep up from the concrete floor and it was getting harder to catch his breath. "I need to keep going."

"You have to, Pally."

John had just lifted the rebar again when what was left of the garage trembled. He froze in abject fear as dust rained down in snowy sheets and debris moved in the distance. After a second or two, it stopped. It wasn't another collapse. Just a warning of the inevitable.

Looking up at his "partner," John's heart sank. "Oh crap."

"Stay calm," Fake Roy directed him. "But you need to get a move on."

John raised the pole and began to pound.

A dusky twilight had settled comfortably over the rescue scene, which was now illuminated with nighttime construction lighting used in highway repair projects. It hadn't been an especially hot summer day, just the typical pleasant Southern California weather that attracted people from all over the country. The winds were calm, and if the firemen weren't searching for men who might be badly injured in the midst of destruction, Roy might have described the evening as peaceful.

The different companies had made significant progress in tunneling down the ramp. Mike and Roy were working side by side when the remaining structure began to shake slightly causing an alarm to sound and the rescuers to scatter. The group collectively held their breath as the garage stabilized.

"I don't like this," Hambly muttered.

"I don't either," said Stanley. Fear twisted like a coil in his gut. On one hand, he would never give up on one of his men. On the other, he had done too many of these types of rescues to say it would have a happy outcome.

The commander apparently had the same thought. "Hank," Hambly began, "we need to consider that eventually this could turn into a recovery mission, not a rescue operation."

Stanley knew the words the commander said were true, but his heart wouldn't accept them. "I'm not going to stop, sir. And these men won't stop either." He gestured to the firefighters who swarmed over the scene likes ants on spilled sugar. "We will get Gage out of there."

"All right, Hank."

If the firemen felt wary about returning to the garage, it didn't show in the determined way they tackled their mission. Mike and Roy paused as a rescuer with a blowtorch cut through a piece of metal blocking their path.

"I thought I'd seen Johnny do just about everything," Roy said more to himself than to his crewmate. "But to run beneath a caved-in building?"

Mike shook his head. "You know how he is. He heard that someone was hurt and charged in here to save him."

The metal now out of the way, the firemen returned to the hard task of moving debris. Luckily they came upon several yards of relatively small pieces that could be moved out in buckets.

"Did you hear that?" Marco, who was on Roy's immediate right, held his hand up for silence. "Quiet!"

Everyone froze in place as Roy scrambled down on all fours to listen. Faint but steady, a metal-on-metal tapping rose in waves from the debris. It pounded a rhythm of life.

"It's him!" Roy shouted excitedly. "We've found him!"

The glow of the penlight was a fraction of what it had been. Exhausted, Johnny closed his eyes.

"Hey now, keep awake!" Fake Roy encouraged him. "You need to keep going."

John raised the rebar and struck the beam once more before the pole slipped from his hand.

"Tired," John whispered. "Cold."

"You're shocky, but you need to stay conscious until you're rescued."

John could still see the outline of Fake Roy sitting close to him in the dim light. "Not sure if I'm going to get out of this one—"

"You're going to be fine," Fake Roy interrupted. "I can hear them coming. And I bet I'm leading the charge!"

"You were right." John managed a crooked smile.

"About?"

"Disaster magnet." Johnny shivered.

"You trust me, right?" Fake Roy asked.

"More than anyone." John was barely conscious, but he thought he felt Fake Roy grasp his hand and squeeze.

"Then trust me now. I don't want you to worry, Johnny. I'm here. You're going to be fine."

The pounding in John's head was beyond madness. "I want you... No," he paused, confused. "I want _Roy_ to know how much his friendship means...more than best friend...brother." A dry sob caught in his throat. "I wish I'd told you…"

"Shhh, it's OK, Junior. It's OK." Fake Roy's comforting, soft voice faded away. "I already know."

John's eyes flew open. Fake Roy was gone.

Then the pain and cold rose up, and the hovering darkness took him.


	7. Chapter 7

From the time the band of firemen heard the tapping until they started digging a small passageway headed toward it, Roy's emotions ran high. But when they finally broke through to the small cavern that held John, his jubilation crashed to despair when he realized his partner was no longer tapping or answering their calls.

And once he stood on the ramp and peered into the little entry into the debris, he hit bottom: There was no way he could fit through that narrow opening.

He slowly walked outside. His surging adrenaline made his hands tremble. With an incredible amount of self-control, Roy made himself focus on a white stone in the midst of the dirt and other debris at the garage entrance. He squatted to examine it closer. Just one small rock, so clean and shiny. If he could keep staring at it, he could maybe stop himself from screaming and pushing all the other firefighters out of the way to get through the little tunnel.

"Roy?" Stanley asked. "Are you OK?"

Exhausted and with frayed nerves, Roy's annoyance came through more than he intended. "No, sir, I'm not."

Stanley knew his senior paramedic well. "Listen to me. It doesn't matter who goes in. I need you to be ready at the biophone to talk to Rampart. They'll be relaying John's vitals up via HT. Understood?"

Roy's head jerked up. "I need to get Johnny."

"All that matters is that we rescue him as quickly as possible. It doesn't matter who does it. You know that."

Sinking back on his heels, Roy slowly came to his senses. "Of course, Cap. All that matters is getting Johnny out."

That duty fell to Murray of the 110, a small but powerful man, and Blackburn of the 22, who was nearly as tall and slender as John. In fact Roy thought for a split second it was John squirting through the opening as quick as an eel as Blackburn disappeared into the darkness.

Murray paused before going in. "Don't worry, DeSoto. We'll bring him out."

Roy nodded bleakly as Murray followed Blackburn into the passageway. Thus began the longest few minutes of Roy's life. He, Marco, Chet, Mike, and Cap gathered near the opening, standing rigid and silent as if any movement on their part could risk their friend's life.

Finally the HT crackled. "We've found him! We got a pulse! He's alive!"

"Oh thank God!" Roy exhaled as a loud cheer arose from the crowd.

"What is his condition?" Cap asked.

"He's unconscious, but he's not pinned under anything. He's just slumped over!" Murray responded.

"Only Johnny," Chet said, shaking his head.

Swiftly Roy ran out to the triage area to man the biophone. "Rampart, this is Squad 51."

"Go ahead, 51, this is Rampart." The tension was audible in Brackett's voice.

Fellow paramedic Pete Lanfer, Murray's partner, listened to Blackburn on the HT. He then relayed Johnny's vital signs. Roy mechanically repeated them into the phone while analyzing them silently.

"Unconscious and unresponsive. Several contusions on the head."

_How did he lose his helmet again? Oh God, he has another head injury. _

"Dyspnea."

_He needs O2._

"Multiple scratches and scrapes."

_That's to be expected._

"Unstable fracture of the ulna."

_Surgery._

"Bleeding from the nose and ears."

_Shit._

It was all Roy could do to not rush back into the garage and dig his way through to where Johnny was. Instead he repeated Brackett's instructions to Pete, who relayed them to Murray and Blackburn.

"They're sending down the stokes now," Pete reported. "Why don't you go wait over there? I'll take over on the phone."

"Thanks!"

The other firefighters cleared a path for Roy as he ran pell-mell toward the entryway. An eternity later, he heard a commotion as Murray, Blackburn, Chet, and Marco emerged from the ramp bearing John on the stokes. They quickly rushed him to the triage area where Roy knelt down and visually assessed his best friend with the calmness of a paramedic and the concern of a parent.

A ghastly white face with blood streaking down the left side. Labored breathing under the oxygen mask. Head and neck held steady by a C-collar. Dark hair matted with blood and covered in concrete dust. Eyes closed and lightly ringed in purple. Left arm splinted. And quiet, so very quiet.

It was then that Roy entered the small tomb in which John had been trapped. People moved quickly around him, but he didn't see them. He could hear the other paramedics speaking to one another and to Rampart, but it was like white noise buzzing in his ears. All he could do was focus on his partner. It wasn't until Murray tapped him on the shoulder that his senses came back into focus.

"Ride with me in the ambulance, OK?"

"Yes," Roy said simply and stood out of the way as John was placed on the gurney. Quickly he and Murray climbed in the waiting bus; its doors shut and two taps released it on a fast trip to Rampart.

Roy paced the same worn path in the lounge that he usually followed when John was in the ER, but this time his steps shuffled tiredly. The arrival in the emergency room, the blur of activity surrounding John, and Dixie's firm hand pushing him out of the treatment room had all happened so fast that how and when he ended up in the lounge was a mystery. He had recognized the faded path on the floor and began to follow it.

"How is he?" Chet asked as he and the rest of the crew burst through the door.

"I don't know anything yet," Roy replied. "He didn't wake up on the trip over."

The guys looked at one another at a loss as to what to do next.

"Did you find the missing worker?" Roy asked.

"Not yet. The crews are still working. Chief stood us down," Cap replied.

The lounge door opened and Dr. Brackett and Dixie entered.

"How is he?" Marco asked.

"He has a linear skull fracture, but there are no signs of a subdural hematoma. He also has a fracture of his left ulna, which is unstable," Brackett explained.

"English, please," said an exasperated Chet.

Roy stepped in. "The skull fracture is straight and the bones aren't depressed or displaced. If he has to have a skull fracture, this is the best kind. There's nothing but time and rest needed to heal that. And no subdural hematoma means there's no sign of bleeding."

"Of course, we'll continue to watch closely for any clots," Brackett said, a familiar twitch firing near his eye. "But so far, it is very promising."

"What about the broken arm?" Marco asked.

"He has to have an open reduction internal fixation..." Brackett stopped after noticing the aggravation and confusion written across the faces of Stanley's crew. "Basically, he has to have an operation that will insert a plate and screws into the bone to stabilize it. I called in Harry Fisher. He's the best orthopedic surgeon on staff."

"When will Johnny be going into surgery?" Mike asked.

"As soon as possible. There's one more thing." Brackett held up his hand. "John inhaled a lot of concrete dust, which has inflamed his lungs. We have him on oxygen, and we'll monitor this closely. It could lead to other respiratory problems."

"Can we see him?" Cap asked.

"I'm sorry, not until maybe after surgery. But I'll let you know when you can."

Dixie placed her hand on Cap's elbow. "I know a place that serves some pretty good coffee and sandwiches. Why don't you boys let me buy you some?"

She smiled as she led the men out to the cafeteria, but Roy hung back. "Can I see him? I'm listed as his next of kin," he reminded the doctor.

Brackett nodded. "Come on. You can slip in there before he heads upstairs."


	8. Chapter 8

Roy entered treatment room three to see the bustle of activity that happens before an ER patient is taken into surgery: oxygen levels are checked, IVs are put in order, the anesthesiologist reviews the chart. Roy stood to the side, satisfied to be able to see Johnny getting such good care.

Dr. Fisher, a tall African American with a receding hairline, was examining John's left arm. "We'll get this all back in order, good as new," he said kindly to his patient. Under his oxygen mask, John mumbled something unintelligible.

"Dr. Fisher, I'm Fireman Roy DeSoto... Johnny is my… I'm his next of kin," Roy explained.

"This fracture looks fairly straightforward, Mr. DeSoto. I don't expect any complications," he said reassuringly.

"Thanks, doc. I'll let you get to work."

"I think it would help him to see you." Fisher gestured for Roy to come to John's side, then quickly left to go prep.

Johnny had been in the hospital before, hooked up to monitors and IVs like some type of Frankenstein's monster, but this time felt different for Roy. The hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach hurt and his heart raced.

As pale as porcelain, John's face was now clean thanks to Dixie's gentle ministrations. A cut stretching across his left eyebrow had been stitched closed. Multiple bruises were rising like shadows on his right arm. His left arm was immobilized. But what dramatically impacted Roy the most was John's stillness. Exuberant with boundless energy, Johnny was always in motion, either at work or outdoors. But now he was limp as a ragdoll.

"I am so sorry," Roy murmured. Leaning over the bedrail, he brushed a stray lock of dark brown hair off his partner's forehead. John's eyes flickered open a fraction.

"Roy?" he whispered.

"I'm here."

John reached up to pull off his oxygen mask. "You're...real?"

Roy's eyes widened in concern. "I'm real."

John seemed to drift off, but he spoke again. "Thanks…saving me..."

_But I didn't save you. I wasn't there. _

Roy placed the oxygen mask back over Johnny's nose and mouth. John whimpered in response, a sad, lonely sound. Roy couldn't imagine how terrifying it must have been for him trapped and hurt in the dark for all those hours.

"You trust me, right?" Roy whispered in John's ear.

"More than anyone." John was barely conscious, but he thought he felt Roy grasp his hand and squeeze.

"Then trust me now. I don't want you to worry, Johnny. I'm here. You're going to be fine."

A strange look flitted across John's face, then the orderlies came to take him to the OR.

The surgery went perfectly.

That's what Dr. Fisher told Roy in the very late (or was it early?) hours of the night. Roy processed the good news as only an exhausted man could: He shook the surgeon's hand, smiled in relief, and collapsed into an empty chair.

Roy had called his wife, Joanne, when Johnny had gone up to the OR, so he knew she wasn't worried about where her husband was. She had assured him that the kids were fine, there was nothing to be concerned with at home, and he needed to stay at Rampart for John. Now Roy was too tired to do anything but sit, dazed, and feel slightly confused about what had transpired over the last twelve hours.

"Hey." Dixie smiled as she eased into the chair next to him. He blinked several times before registering who she was.

"John's out of surgery," he said.

"I know. And he is going to be sound asleep for a long time. It's the best thing for him. So how about I arrange a ride home for you?"

"No, I need to be here…" Roy shook his head stubbornly.

"Are you listening to me? John is going to be asleep. You need to go home, get a shower, have a warm meal, and go to bed. I promise I will call you if anything changes."

"No, I need to be here…" Roy began again automatically.

"Roy, Johnny is really going to need your support in his recovery. And you aren't going to do a good job if you are dead on your feet. You don't want to let him down, do you?" Dixie felt badly for using Roy's obvious worry and guilt to manipulate him, but she knew there would be no other way to ensure he got the rest he needed.

"I can't let Johnny down," Roy conceded. "OK, I'll go home. But only if you promise you'll call—"

"The second anything changes. I promise. But believe it or not, he is doing really well, all things considering. He doesn't have one complication!"

Roy grinned. "That is pretty strange. We are talking about Johnny, right?"

The two friends smiled and let their respective memories drift over the countless times John had experienced many complications following his injuries.

Another thought occurred to Roy. "Say, what about Cap and Chet and the guys? Do they know?"

"Yes, I caught up with Captain Stanley down the hall before I came in here. He's making everyone go home and said to tell you to do the same."

Roy hesitantly raised his eyes. "Dixie…is John really going to be all right?"

"Johnny is going to be all right. I wouldn't tell you it's safe to go home if it wasn't," she said and patted his hand. "Come back after you get some rest."

Roy stood and walked across the room, before turning back to his friend. "You, too, Dix. I know this has taken a toll on you, too."

It was only after Roy had left the room that Dixie leaned back in the chair and let a few tears slowly escape the corners of her eyes and course down her cheeks unchecked.


	9. Chapter 9

Hitting almost every light as it turned green, Roy thought he set a new record for getting to Rampart from the station. He pulled into the first open parking space he found in the visitors' lot and sprinted into the hospital.

Conversing near the nurses' station, Dr. Brackett and Dr. Early glanced up as Roy rushed in.

"Hey Roy, where's the fire?" Early asked with genial humor.

"I'm late. I was supposed to be here two hours ago," he explained, catching his breath.

"I'm sure John will understand," Joe said kindly. Roy appreciated the thought but knew it wouldn't be true.

"How is he doing today, doc?"

Brackett smiled. "Remarkably well. Very un-Johnnylike."

The past five days had flown by for Roy as he lived in a continual loop between the hospital, work, and home. As Dixie had predicted, John had slept through the day after the accident, but Roy still sat by his side, watching his partner sleep, absently looking at some out-of-date magazines, and generally processing what had happened. It wasn't until later that evening that John gradually returned to consciousness.

"Dark," John had murmured. "Too dark."

Roy had leaned over the small bedside table and turned the lamp on its lowest setting.

"Better?"

John's mouth was so dry his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Roy quickly had gotten got him a drink of water.

"Roy?"

"I'm right here."

"Thanks…" John was back asleep.

Today, as Roy rushed passed Dixie in the hall outside John's room, she raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him.

"He was expecting you this morning," she said quietly.

"I know."

Roy entered the sick room noiselessly. The curtains were still drawn, but sunshine outlined the edges casting odd streaks of light across the bed. In the silence, Roy could hear John's steady but still rough breathing.

"Hey," Roy said a little out of breath himself.

Johnny regarded his partner stonily. "Hey."

"How are you doing?"

"OK. Are you just going to stand there or are you coming in?" John asked sullenly.

"I'm coming in," Roy answered.

His unhappiness on full display, John asked, "Why weren't you here this morning?"

The visitor's chair squeaked as Roy pulled it across the linoleum closer to the bed. "I had to stop by the station. I'm sorry I'm late."

"Oh."

Roy tried to muster some cheer he didn't feel. "Brackett told me that you're doing better than expected."

John brightened. "Yeah. I'm not feeling too badly."

"Good. That's real good." Johnny's sudden smile told Roy he had been forgiven, the younger man's sometimes-mercurial mood swinging like a pendulum.

"So are you feeling rattled?" John teased.

Now it was Roy's turn to be upset. Even though the room was dimly lit, the dirty look he shot his partner was perfectly clear. "Not funny, John."

"Jeez, why are you so touchy?"

_Because I let you down. Because I wasn't there and you could have died._

Roy flicked some nonexistent lint off his pants. "No reason."

"Has there been any word on what caused the collapse?"

"No, and it might take months to figure out. But I did hear someone say it might have something to do with grout not being applied between sections of vertical columns."

John cleared his throat. "Well, I just wanted to say thanks. For saving me. _Again._" He emphasized the last word dramatically. "I think I tried to tell you before, but I was kind of out of it. I wanted to make sure you knew."

Roy felt as if the weight of the entire collapsed garage was on his shoulders. He bowed his head. "I didn't," he confessed.

"You didn't what?"

"Save you. Murray and Blackburn got you out."

John frowned. "I know."

Lost in thought, Roy stared at his hands intently. "They deserve your thanks, not me. Not this time... Wait a minute…what? Y-you know?" he stammered. "You know that I didn't rescue you? Then why are you thanking me?"

"OK, strictly speaking, you didn't physically bring me out of the garage. So what? You still saved me."

Roy shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Exhaling slowly, John began to explain. "I know it sounds crazy, but you were with me the whole time. In the garage. I saw you and heard you and talked to you."

"How hard did you hit your head?"

"I know you weren't _really _there," John snapped, "but it was like you were! You told me I was going to be fine. And I believed you." He added, "I always believe you."

The words kept tumbling out. "You said I should hit the beam to make noise. You droned on about boring stuff to keep me awake. You told me not to worry, that I would be OK, that the guys were coming. I know without a doubt that it was having you—or a version of you—with me that kept me going when I wanted to give up." John's voice shook a little, but he quickly got it under control. "Listen, in the station that day you said that since I'm a disaster magnet, I could keep getting into scrapes because you'd always be there to get me out." He shrugged. "You just found a different way of doing it this time, that's all."

"Are you saying I'm in your head?"

Eyeing his partner carefully, John nodded slowly. "We do spend a lot of time together. And you are pretty bossy. I guess you've worn off on me."

To John's relief, Roy smiled a little. "So I'm like your voice of reason? That's a pretty big responsibility, Junior. I don't know if I'm up for it."

Johnny rolled his eyes. "I do have _some _common sense, Roy."

"Well, you can't blame me after you say you're having conversations with me when I'm not there."

John became quiet. "I wonder—was I conscious and just talking to the darkness? Or was I unconscious and dreaming the whole thing?"

"You had to be awake some of the time, because you were hitting something metal. I heard you myself." Noticing the sadness creeping up on his partner, Roy said, "Maybe while I'm in your head I can figure out how you think!"

John snorted and said in his self-deprecating way, "Well, I'm glad someone will finally appreciate what a tough job it is to be me."

"To tell you the truth," Roy chuckled as he stood, "I'm not sure I really want to know what goes on in that head of yours. It could be scary."

"Hey, where are you going?" John called out.

"Relax, I'm just going to get a cup of coffee, since I'm going to be staying for a while," he replied.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Roy paused as he opened the door. "In fact, it's safe to say I will always be here for you—apparently in one way or another. You know, in the we're-going-to-be-best-friends-forever kind of way."

He looked over his shoulder at Johnny, who had eased back on his pillow and closed his eyes, a big grin splashed across on his face. Roy smiled, too.

"Always," he promised softly.


End file.
